


The One Where Jaskier Gets Fucked By A Dragon

by ChallengeAcceptedPankratz (CassLikesFic)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Bondage, Crack Treated Seriously, Dirty Talk, Egg Laying, Enthusiastic Consent, Fisting, Friends Help Friends Fuck Dragons, Harkness Test Compliant, It's very very enthusiastic, Jaskier | Dandelion is a Size Queen, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Oviposition, Possibly worryingly enthusiastic, Potions, Power Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Praise Kink, Rimming, Safe Sane and Consensual, Size Difference, Size Kink, Stone Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Surprisingly Tender Dragon Sex, Voyeurism, Xenophilia, dragon dick, no seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CassLikesFic/pseuds/ChallengeAcceptedPankratz
Summary: “Dragons that lay eggs, are more properly referred to as Dragonkind. They grow to be ten feet tall, walk on two legs, are...somewhat humanoid, and they have a single sex.”“So the same dragon lays the eggs and fertilizes them?”“Hm.”“...I’m still missing something.”“Dragonkind need a host to incubate their eggs for the first few hours after laying.”“Ohh, so the sheepskin and hot water bottle is to keep it snug while you’re holding it against your chest. I see. Bit of a cuddle.”“No, Jaskier.”“...they lay the egg, and then you cuddle it, and they, er. Fertilize it while you’re curled around it? Bit sticky, still doesn’t explain the size of the reward.”“No, Jaskier.” Geralt added thoughtfully, after a moment. “And the one in this territory uses ‘he.’ Not they.”“He. Good to know. Well gods damn it then, Geralt, why don’t you explain to me in direct language where little dragons come from then?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion / Dragon
Comments: 101
Kudos: 1746





	The One Where Jaskier Gets Fucked By A Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> What it says on the tin.
> 
> I feel like I should be sorry for writing this, but I'm not. Please mind the tags kiddos. Everything that happens here is enthusiastically consented to between parties.
> 
> And yes, Firefang thoroughly passes the [Harkness Test.](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/622570535796211712/694587036237299742/500px-Harkness_Test.png). This is a bit weird, but it's not bestiality. Everyone's thoroughly informed about what's involved and has a great time. 
> 
> Gonna go hide under my bed now.

Jaskier did not enjoy hearing “I told you so.”

However, staked out on all fours, his chest supported by a tightly rolled bedroll, with his chin on Geralt’s knee, a dragon inevitably approaching behind him, he could admit that he was possibly in over his head. Just a teeny bit. A teeny, teeny, itty bitty bit in over his head.

“Breathe,” Geralt said quietly, carding his fingers slowly through Jaskier’s hair. “Slower.” 

“Like to see you breathe evenly in this situation,” Jaskier muttered against the meat of Geralt’s thigh, but obediently took a steadying breath.

* * *

Two days earlier, Jaskier had scanned the notice board in the mountain town with mild interest, shaking his head in disgust. “Well, there were notices, but someone’s gone and torn them all down. Recently.”

“Monsters, they’ve got,” Geralt grunted and shook his head. “Witchers, they don’t want. Let’s move on.”

“Now Geralt, really, you mustn’t give up that easily,” Jaskier said with a roll of his eyes. “Surely we can take our business directly to the alderman. Or the apothecary?” 

The alderman’s door hadn’t opened at their knock. The apothecary’s had, but they were treated to one of the nastier smiles Jaskier had encountered when they approached.

“Monsters to be slain here? Ah, no.” His grin had been too wide, too sharp, and had landed squarely on Geralt. “Of course, if you’re hurting for coin, you could always fetch a dragon’s egg and bring it here. Those are in high demand, and rare supply. Lots of uses for one.” 

“A dragon egg!” Jaskier seized on the idea, discarding the man’s tone like a sweet wrapper. He didn’t miss the tensing of Geralt’s shoulders, or the victorious smirk that settled on the apothecary’s ruddy face. “Well, what’s the reward for it?” 

The apothecary’s eyebrow quirked as he held Geralt’s eyes. Jaskier had a moment to wonder, idly, if there was some important bit of context he was missing. Geralt shook his head, the slightest gesture. One Jaskier had come to interpret as, _Ignore the bard. He’s touched in the head._ “Ten thousand orens inert. Twenty five thousand orens if it’s viable.” 

“Twenty...twenty five _thousand_ -” Jaskier’s voice dropped to an awed whisper. That was a month of nights in a very good inn. New shoes for roach, new armor for Geralt, potions and medicine and food and- good gods. “What are they made of, solid gold?!”

“Viable shells are. And dragon seed’s a valuable commodity too - a thousand orens a bottle, if it’s fresh.” 

“Fucking hell, _Geralt_ ,” Jaskier said in amazement, raising his eyebrows at Geralt and spreading his arms wide as though to say, _a simple solution to all our problems._

“Thank you.” Geralt ground out, sounding as though the man had delivered several mortal insults through smiling teeth, and not as though any worries about money were about to vanish into thin air. “We’ll be out of town before the sun sets.”

“If you do want to go after one…” The apothecary drawled, his eyes moving over Geralt head to toe and then taking in Jaskier with the same measuring glance. He tossed a battered, red leather satchel on the counter. “You’ll want the kit. On the house.” His lips twitched. “For your _efforts_.”

“I have…” Geralt ground out, not moving his hand towards the bag. “My own kit.”

“I don’t have a dragon hunting kit!” Jaskier added in pleasantly, taking the bag and slinging it over his shoulder. “That’s very kind of you, thank you so much, you’ve been a great help-”

Geralt’s hand landed heavily on the nape of Jaskier’s neck, turning him and pushing him towards the waiting door.

“ _Out._ ” He snarled, and was silent for the rest of the long walk to the outskirts of town.

* * *

Jaskier opened up the red satchel by the fire, and blinked in confusion at the contents. He pulled out a- a surprisingly _large_ jar of grease, a bottle full of a swirling gold liquid that sparkled in the firelight and felt warm to the touch, and three other small potion bottles, filled with thin, pale purple liquid. A braided bundle of herbs, singed at the ends, and smelling strongly of some strange incense. There was also a set of large wooden stakes, brand new, a few coils of rope, cut neatly into lengths and smooth to the touch, a fleece, a hot water bottle, a belt, and a...well, rather sizeable, polished wooden teardrop with a flared base? 

He exhaled through his nose, then looked at his traveling companion, who was feeding the fire with his jaw tight and still not speaking.

“...erm...so.” Jaskier began, wincing slightly at his tone, then clearing his throat and hefting the corked clay jar and the...darning egg? “...what do I _not_ understand about fetching a dragon egg, then?”

Geralt sighed and shook dirt off his fingers, and looked at Jaskier squarely, tilting his head slightly. Jaskier recognized the slight rearrangement of his features into something that could be _amusement._

“...Geralt, I don’t have your training. Can you, and I’m asking with the very prettiest of my _pleases,_ explain to me what all of these oddments have to do with getting a dragon egg?” He lifted up the fleece, belt, and the hot water bottle and shook them in the Witcher’s direction. “All right, this...I’m assuming is to keep it warm until you get it to the apothecary. What’s the rest of the kit for?”

Geralt sighed through his nose and sat back on his heels, then stood and crossed to sit next to Jaskier, slowly repacking everything into the kit. He organized his thoughts in the same way he organized the satchel’s contents. Slowly, deliberately, with care.

“What do you know about dragons?” Geralt asked in a low rumble.

“...well, erm. Big scaly things? Breathe fire? Hoards of treasure? Lay nests full of golden eggs that require...complicated climbing equipment to fetch, apparently?”

“Those are Greater Wyverns, and they bear live young. They don’t lay nests. There are maybe six of them left in the Continent, and they just want to sleep on their gold.”

“Right that...raises more questions than it answers.”

“ _Dragons_ that lay _eggs_ , are more properly referred to as _Dragonkind_. They grow to be ten feet tall, walk on two legs, are...somewhat humanoid, and they have a single sex.”

“So the same dragon lays the eggs and fertilizes them?”

“Hm.”

“...I’m still missing something.”

“Dragonkind need a host to incubate their eggs for the first few hours after laying.” 

“Ohh, so the sheepskin and hot water bottle is to keep it snug while you’re holding it against your chest. I see. Bit of a cuddle.” 

“No, Jaskier.”

“...they lay the egg, and then you cuddle it, and they, er. Fertilize it while you’re curled around it? Bit sticky, still doesn’t explain the size of the reward.”

“ _No_ , Jaskier.” Geralt added thoughtfully, after a moment. “And the one in this territory uses ‘he.’ Not they.”

“He. Good to know. Well gods damn it then, Geralt, why don’t you explain to me in direct language _where_ little dragons come from then?”

“The apothecary was telling _us_ , actually telling _me_ , to go get fucked by a dragon.” 

Jaskier’s mouth dropped open. “...excuse me?”

“Dragons-” Geralt continued to grit out, voice warming with anger, “Have exceptionally long, thick, and _scaled_ cocks.” He gestured to his forearm, _his very large, muscular forearm,_ then closed his fist. “This would be considered a _smaller endowed_ one. And they lay the egg _inside_ your arse, where you hold it in as they fertilize it, and then lay it later, after a bowlegged walk down a mountain.” Jaskier felt a bit lightheaded and warm. “The _average_ egg is somewhere around the size of a large orange.” Geralt slowly and methodically held out each of the kit’s contents. “These-” He said, holding up the small vials of purple liquid. “Are muscle relaxants, so you don’t tear your arse open trying to clench down. This-” He showed the bunch of herbs, shaking it lightly at Jaskier. “Is incense that mimics the smell of a willing host in heat. Gold bottle’s dragon seed - surprising that he included that actually, it’s too expensive to waste on a ‘fuck you’. Aphrodisiac. Also good for sore muscles - tingles, it’s warm. Makes the experience pleasurable. The grease - and that’s a _small_ jar, mind- is to open yourself up with first. Stakes and rope are for holding you in place so you don’t try to crawl away and hurt yourself.” Geralt seemed to be enjoying the stunned look on Jaskier’s face. “...you were right about the fleece and hot water bottle. Most humans run cold to a dragon. You strap those to your belly afterwards. Egg’ll stay warm enough on its own once it’s laid, but like I said, it’s at least an hour and a half before you can safely do that.”

“And erm...this?” Jaskier stared with newfound apprehension and yes, curiosity, at the carved wooden object.

“Plug your arse up so you can collect the seed afterwards. It’s valuable, you don’t want to lose a thousand oren’s worth in the mud or staining your trousers.”

Jaskier licked his lips, briefly lost in thought. “...right, then.”

“Right. So we’re camping here tonight, and getting the fuck out of here at first light.”

“...getting a dragon egg sounds like a two person job.”

“Usually is. Not smart to try and go it alone.”

“Have you ever done it?” There was a very long pause.

“...once.” Geralt admitted with a soft, frustrated huff. “Didn’t take. Witchers’ heart beats are too slow, even with the hot water bottle and the fleece. That’s why he said ten thousand gold for _inert_. The shell turns to plain stone. Reagents inside the shell are still worth a fair bit, though.” Jaskier digested this new information, along with a searing set of visuals that made his already interested cock twitch in his breeches. 

“Twenty five _thousand_ orens, though.”

“No, Jaskier.”

“Hand up the ass can actually be quite pleasant in the right context. And I’ve done that just for the fun of it at least...ohh, four times that I can think of. This season.”

“ _No_ , Jaskier.”

“Ten feet tall, you said? What color are they usually?”

“...Jaskier, no. Red and orange, in this region.”

“What, I’m not saying _you’d_ be the one staked out-”

“Jaskier…” 

“Well, let’s at least share a bottle of wine and go through the pros and cons, shall we?”

“Hrm.”

* * *

The wine was strong, and sweet, and somewhere around the middle of the bottle Geralt had warmly agreed that if Jaskier really wanted to prove he could take it, he’d be willing, able, and eager to assist.

“Oh gods, oh _gods_ , oh sweet merciful gods Geralt-” Jaskier was stretched wide around three gorgeous, thick fingers, slick with something that was definitely not from the corked jar that the apothecary had provided.

“That’s only three.” Geralt was kneeling, still fully dressed, with Jaskier laid out on his back over his thighs, practically folded in half. The other of Geralt’s hands, not currently occupied, was resting on the back of Jaskier’s thigh, holding him solidly in place. Jaskier’s head was pillowed on a folded blanket on the ground, his arched back not touching the earth.

“Forgive the prayers, newfound appreciation for your fucking _gorgeous_ hands, fucking _gods, more-_ ” Jaskier couldn’t close his eyes tight and just surrender to the sensations. The bard had never been one to keep his teeth together, especially not when he was being rapidly brought to the doors of heaven with his pants around his ankles and his doublet unlaced.

“Greedy.” Geralt said fondly, not hurrying his pace at all and continuing with the slow press, press, _spread_ of his fingers. The warm, tender tone of the words and inexorable pace of his fingers made Jaskier’s already painfully hard and leaking cock throb. “Being greedy and impatient won’t help you with the dragon, you know.”

“So you’re- hn- you’re considering it.” Jaskier had been staring straight up at the treeline, but now he chanced a look at Geralt’s face. The warm, tender, _approving_ smile almost sent him straight over the edge.

“You certainly seem...enthusiastic about the idea.” Geralt glanced at Jaskier’s stomach, and the clear smears of wetness where his hungry cock rested. 

“Gods, who _wouldn’t_ -”

“Most people.” Geralt punctuated his words with a twist of his fingers that made Jaskier’s mouth go slack. “ _Reasonable_ people. People satisfied with human cocks.” 

“I _love_ everything humans can gi- _fuck, fuck, fuck-_ ” 

“Breathe.”

“ _Geralt-_ ”

“Don’t come yet. Ready for four?”

“...yeah, I think so, fuck.”

“Breathe. Relax.”

“Ohfuckingshitting _gods-_ ”

“ _There_ you go. You understand we’ll have to do this again, if you really want to go through with it. No shame in deciding it’s too much. Plenty of other ways to make good coin.”

“Not as- gods _fuck_ \- m-much- fun…” 

“It’d take two hours, to do this properly. I’d have to tie you down first, make sure the bonds were tight and comfortable. You wouldn’t be able to move.”

“Nggghfuck-”

“You’d have to wait for the relaxant and the dragonseed until after I’d done this. Thoroughly. Not the way I’m doing it now, for your pleasure. I’d have to stretch you until you couldn’t clench tight around my fingers anymore. You couldn’t come, you’d be too sensitive to take what the dragon would give you. _Then_ you’d get the potions, and I’d light the incense. Negotiate with the Dragonkind. He might say no.”

“Geralt, Geralt, _Geraltgeraltgeralt-”_ Jaskier’s chanting took on a panicked edge as Geralt’s fingers slowly slid out to the first knuckle, rubbing slowly without pressing deeper inside. Then Geralt spread his fingers _wide_ , and Jaskier was fairly certain this is what going mad felt like.

“Shh. If he said no, I’d still take care of you. But you need to really think about why you want this.”

“I want this, I want it, I- pleasefuck _please-_ ”

“Would you do it just for the pleasure of the experience? Without the money? I need you to be honest. Breathe. Think.”

“It’s already fucking worth it with half your goddamn hand up my ass, no money needed. If I get more of _this_ , of course I fucking want to do it-”

“The second you don’t enjoy it, I’m going to put a stop to it. Dragonkind aren’t mindless beasts. You say stop, it all stops.”

“I am not. Fucking. Saying. Stop. Right now. Forget the dragon for half a godsdamned minute, get your hand in me and make me come already.”

“Ask me with the prettiest one of your pleases.”

“Ohhh you are a fucking- bastard- you are- please, please, pleaseplease _pleasefuck_ I’m so close, I’m _so-”_

“There.”

The soft, shattered moan Jaskier responded with, spending over his stomach with thighs shaking, was better than words.

* * *

Geralt had not exaggerated the process, and Jaskier was light-headed and aching all over by the time the witcher pronounced him ready. The ropes pinning him in place had hardly any give, keeping his elbows and forearms pressed tightly against the old black horse blanket Geralt had thoughtfully laid out for him to kneel on. The rolled up bedding supported his chest, even if Jaskier’s knees gave out and he put his whole weight on it. Which they did, within the first fifteen minutes.

Geralt greased him open and prepared him as though he were about to take an entire godsdamned army with rough practicality and efficient, determined fingers. Jaskier’s legs wouldn’t stop trembling. His cock couldn’t make up its mind whether to go completely soft at the intensity of the sensation or grow painfully hard. Either way, he was so slick that he knew there would be a large wet spot on the horse blanket beneath him that had nothing to do with the apothecary’s grease, or the thick salve that Geralt had supplemented it with once that proved far too little for the Witcher’s satisfaction. He had stayed there in that hazy, intense place while Geralt cored him open over the better part of two hours with relentless patience.

Around half an hour in, Jaskier’s voice had gone hoarse from begging, then quieted into low moans, and finally he was left gasping frantically for air. The last chorus happened while Geralt calmly reminded him to breathe as he clenched around the Witcher’s thick wrist, fingers folded into a tight, unrelenting knot inside him. 

Geralt stopped once Jaskier had fallen completely silent, pliant and unresisting, and just let his body accept what was happening. He gratefully drank from the water skin held to his lips, lapped up the spoonfuls of honey Geralt held out to him, and tilted his face into the cool, damp cloth that Geralt wiped over his sweat drenched face. Breathed deeply and evenly as Geralt suggested.

Geralt asked often, in the same calm tone, if Jaskier wanted to stop.

Jaskier replied with a firm “no”, and then many, many an enthusiastic “yes" each time Geralt asked if he wanted to continue. Geralt let Jaskier doze with his cheek pressed against his thigh, watching the movement of the sun in placid meditation.

Jaskier feet a little- well, there wasn’t a single word to describe the feeling, really. Having Geralt carefully tug up the too large pair of black sleeping pants over his thighs and hips, so he wouldn’t be exposed while they waited for the right time to invite the Dragonkind to arrive. And then resting his chin on Geralt’s thigh while Geralt combed soothing fingers through his hair and murmured quiet reassurances that they could stop at any time. Safe. Cared for. Exposed, vulnerable. And definitely at least part of him was wondering if he had blithely committed to something bigger than he could wrap his mind or overstimulated body around.

The sinking sun blanketed their rocky campsite in orange light, and Geralt brought Jaskier back to himself with a gentle touch to his cheek. “I’m going to light the incense now. Are you ready?” 

Jaskier didn’t quite trust his own voice, but his nod wasn’t enough for Geralt. Geralt’s hand moved from his cheek to his chin, lifting his face and forcing Jaskier to meet his eyes. “I need you to give me a clear yes, Jaskier. Or this stops now.”

“Yes,” Jaskier said softly, but with deep feeling. “Light the damned bundle, I want it, I want it.” Jaskier’s voice broke on the final word. “ _Please_ -”

“Shh. All right.” Geralt built up the small campfire, then touched the bundle to it.

It smelled like nothing else on earth Jaskier had ever encountered. Smokey and powdery, something with a bite like hot pepper and cinnamon combined, and sweetness like vanilla. Heady with musk and smoke. Crackling like firewood. Underneath, there was something...floral, as well, faintly. And something sweet and rich like cherry syrup. Jaskier jolted against the ties, shocked out of the languid warmth filling his entire body at the sound of too-large footfalls behind him. And a low, pleased chuckle that sounded as though it had been dug out of the belly of the earth, smoke lingering on the word.

“ _Geralt_.”

“Firefang.”

"Good to see you, old friend." Firefang’s voice was deep and gravelly, but cultured. Educated. Strangely smooth around the consonants, with a noble cadence that was at odds with the gruff tone.

"You too.”

“So…” The word rolled around in Firefang’s mouth like a polished stone being tasted. Jaskier trembled again, overwhelmed, pressing his face against Geralt’s thigh. Somehow, for all Geralt’s words and warnings, he hadn’t realized the Dragonkind was going to be an actual thinking, rational being, with a voice and opinions on the matter. What if he said _no_? A large, clawed hand rested at the small of his back, and Jaskier was frantically grateful for the comfort and cover of sleeping pants while he processed this new information. “Who's this pretty present for?" A thumb the size of - fuck it, his own cock, stroked in slow circles at the dip of his spine, the large claw just barely scratching his skin.

"You. Apothecary suggested it, I knew this was your territory. He liked the idea." Geralt’s hands were running soothingly through Jaskier’s hair again, slowing his frantic heart rate into a steady throb. Jaskier felt it in his temples, each of the points he was tied, low in his stomach. “I decided to indulge him, if you were willing.” 

"Hmmm. Well, I like willing tributes. Can he talk?"

“Yes. Too much. He’s a little dazed right now. Got him ready for you.”

"He’s old enough to consent to be bred?"

"Barely."

Jaskier managed to get his fuzzy brain around the fact that he was being negotiated over like a mindless beast, and found his voice, although it came out more peevish than he would have liked.

"I’m twenty eight, I’m not a _child_ for fuck’s sake..." 

“And I’ve seen six hundred and thirteen winters since I hatched. All humans look young and tender to my eyes, little featherless chick.” There was a soft, sibilant laugh, and those large, clawed fingers were resting at the nape of his neck now. If Jaskier could only turn his _head,_ get a _look_ at what was coming…"Your pretty boy understands what's involved?"

"In detail."

"And he’s clear minded enough to consent?"

"Oh, he's an idiot who thinks with his prick, so I wouldn’t trust his judgement, but he's sober and willing. Hasn’t had a potion yet."

“I want-” Jaskier wet dry lips and said hoarsely, surprising both of them to silence. “...I want to see you first. I want a good long look at what I’m getting.” There was a low clicking sound from Firefang’s throat. Jaskier thought it might be the sound a crocodile would make, if it could purr with pleasure.

Jaskier couldn’t see Firefang, but he could see Geralt’s face. The small, proud smile twitching at the corner of his lips. “Well, what do you think?”

“Easily done enough.”

* * *

Jaskier watched Firefang’s shadow fall over Geralt, and he stared at a large, three toed foot, each toe topped with a wickedly curving claw the color of old blood. There was a sweep of a thick tail near his face, glittering with red and orange scales, and Jaskier’s fingers itched to reach out, to stroke, to _touch._ To run his hands down that thick, muscled, glittering length and _squeeze._

And then Firefang crouched down, and Jaskier’s eyes went wide as the large muzzle, easily the same size as a draft horse’s, dipped down scant inches in front of his own face. A clear membrane passed over brilliant blue, slitted eyes, as the Dragonkind and the human regarded each other with startled interest. Firefang's breath was like a gust from a forge, smelling of hot metal and that spicy incense.

“Well, pretty bird?” Firefang rumbled, snapping his sharp teeth together inches away from Jaskier’s nose. “How do you like me?” Large nostrils flared as the Dragonkind inhaled deeply, scenting Jaskier's eager desire. Firefang’s pupils widened a fraction.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Jaskier whispered, the words falling heady and impatient from his mouth. “Yes, please.”

One sharp claw tipped Jaskier’s chin up. Firefang’s thin lips twitched upward, revealing shows of very-sharp teeth in a pleased smirk. “You haven’t seen _everything_ of mine. And I haven’t seen everything of yours.” He gestured down to the wrap pants covering him from hips to calves, cleverly tailored and tied to leave his tail free.

“Gods, I don’t fucking care. Just be good to me.”

“Be...good.” That low, clicking purr again, that Jaskier could practically taste in the back of his throat. He could feel it resonating in his chest.

“Be good to me,” Jaskier choked out, almost a quiet cry.

“No. No, not I.” There was a chuckle like a roll of thunder, punching Jaskier in the gut. He trembled all over and Jaskier pressed his face to Geralt’s thigh, utterly on fire and certain he was going to die from pure, molten _need_ . "You wanted a _dragon_ , didn't you, songbird? That’s how you want me to be good to you. By giving you everything you hope I am."

"Show me the rest, and then…please."

"Please _what_?" The last word held a feral bite, blue smoke curling out from between Firefang's sharp teeth. Words and ideas fled. Jaskier searched his vocabulary and came up startlingly empty under the scrutiny of that large, handsome face.

"Whatever you like. However you like it best. Rough and beastly or slow and sweet. Be good to me however you like, and I’ll be good to you right back."

"Dangerous offer, songbird." Firefang crouched back on thick legs, using that massive tail fluidly for balance. His head was cocked, consideringly. “Yes. Give him the potions, then.”

“Wait, wait-” The word was out of Jaskier’s mouth before he could stop it, a quiet, languid sigh. One tied wrist jerked with his instinctive desire to touch, to caress. To satisfy and _please._

“Yes?” The word was sibilant, a liquid purr. Firefang’s head cocked to one side, and Jaskier couldn’t help the twitch of his lips at the birdlike gesture.

“I want to see you. All of you. Before the potions. I thought- I thought I made that clear.” Jaskier wet his lips with a soft inhale. 

“...why?” Firefang’s eyes narrowed, studying Jaskier’s face with wary interest.

“So you know how much I want you without them.” If Jaskier had to write out a list of his many accomplishments, surprising a Dragonkind by enthusiastically wanting him was definitely going to be at the top of that list.

“That’s...unique.” Firefang huffed out a soft laugh, a trickle of smoke curling from flared nostrils. He glanced at Geralt, still kneeling placidly with a slight smile on his face. “Is he always like this?”

“Part of his charm.” Geralt carded strong fingers through Jaskier’s scalp, nails scratching lightly. Jaskier made an appreciative groan, rubbing his cheek against Geralt’s thigh again with a soft sound. “He’s stubborn about that, so if you want to get in him before dawn, it’s best to just give in now.”

Firefang chuckled at that, those- fucking _massive_ , gods, if only the claws retracted- hands going to the hide pants tied low on his hips. The knots were deftly tugged loose and Jaskier’s jaw dropped. If there was any doubt that this particular cock was Dragonkind and not human, that was long gone. Jaskier took the time to make a thorough study of what was presented, trying to make sense of it without letting himself get overwhelmed at how fucking tempting the sight was.

Firefang’s cock was a sinuous shape made up of multiple, intertwining curves. The twisting sides and base were covered with soft, tiny scales in a deep red that faded into shimmering orange. Running down the top of the shaft were a smooth line of ridged plates, much like the ones covering Firefang’s stomach. The head was a gathering of overlapping, narrow ridges that reminded him of a tightly closed flower bud. And at the head in a narrow vertical slit, there waited a bead of liquid, gold and pearlescent and shining at the very tip. Jaskier’s world narrowed to that single point. Wanting to _taste_.

“Get the fuck _in me_ ,” Jaskier growled low in his throat, wrists jerking against the ties. “I’ve been patient, I’ve been good, I’ve waited. We’ve all established I’m willing and wanting and I’m more than fucking _ready_ , please- _please-_ ”

“Well, that’s...flattering. Thank you.” Firefang blinked his eyes slowly with a pleased, purring rumble.

“If that’s not the usual reaction to you, people are small minded _idiots._ Fucking hell Geralt, why did you tie me down- Darling, I would be _so_ good to you-” Jaskier was babbling now, he knew he was, but the need that had been banked down to embers suddenly flared up as hot as Firefang’s breath.

“Tributes are often eager to have their fantasies, but reality is different from a fantasy.” One of those large hands was gently, so gently lifting Jaskier’s head again. “You seem to prefer the reality.”

“Fuck yes.” Jaskier’s eyes moved between Geralt and Firefang. He took a deep breath, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll take the potions now.” He murmured softly, willing himself to relax against the bonds that held him steady. Firefang took a step back, letting Geralt have a quiet moment with Jaskier. Geralt’s fingers ran slowly along the line of Jaskier’s jaw, behind his ears, down his neck. Then a thumb pressed firmly down on his bottom lip, opening Jaskier’s mouth.

“This one first,” Geralt said quietly, uncorking one of the smaller vials of purple liquid. He tipped the contents into Jaskier’s mouth, fingers gently stroking down his throat as Jaskier swallowed.

“...tastes a bit of...licorice. Anise?” Jaskier asked, mildly puzzled as he wet his lips. “Your potions usually taste bitter. Sharp.”

“You like sweets,” Geralt said in a mild rumble. “A few drops of honey and anise extract won’t affect the mixture.” 

“You don’t want me bedding your friend with a bitter taste in my mouth?” The corner of Geralt’s mouth quirked up at that.

“Hm. Perhaps not.” Geralt set the empty vial and cork aside, then reached for the larger flask with its shimmering gold contents. The same color as the beaded drop at the head of Firefang’s- Jaskier abruptly connected two dots and groaned softly as Geralt uncorked the flask and tipped a generous measure into Jaskier’s mouth.

Jaskier struggled to swallow the large dose, feeling trickles of tingling heated liquid spilling from the corners of his mouth. It tasted like...like melted butter, burnt honey, hot pepper and salt and sweet all mingled together, lingering on the back of his tongue. He could feel it as it traveled down his throat, leaving a lingering burn like expensive spirits that settled in his stomach, warming him from the inside out and going straight to his cock.

" _Fuck_ ,” Jaskier murmured with deep appreciation, licking the lingering traces from the corners of his mouth with a very eager tongue. “...no _wonder_ that goes for a thousand orens a bottle. You’re really quite good to me, Geralt.” Jaskier said with a content sound, waiting for the combined potions to begin their work. 

“Mm,” Geralt responded with a small, fond smile, wiping a smear of gold off the side of Jaskier’s chin before pushing his gilded thumb between Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier let his eyes fall closed, and heard Firefang take a ragged breath over Geralt’s shoulder.

“You always were a damned tease, Geralt.” Firefang grumbled with a soft, huffing laugh. “May as well see what I’m getting, before he starts tingling all over.”

“I have more fun watching,” Geralt said with an easy, liquid shrug, corking and tossing the bottle to Firefang. “Help yourself.”

Jaskier made a soft, surprised sound at the touch of claws just above the waistband of his loose, borrowed pants. He made a louder, less surprised (and less dignified) sound as the pants were dragged down to his bound ankles. And a thoroughly undignified, startled moan at the generous trickle of warm, tingling liquid drizzled over his relaxed and waiting hole.

If he thought it’d been warming down his _throat._

Well.

Geralt was petting him again, long slow strokes through his hair, fingers soothingly rested on the back of his neck.

“Jaskier-”

“Geralt I swear to whatever god you like that if you ask if I’m sure, want to stop, or if you remind me to breathe again I will- I will-” He made a low, wordless noise that was mostly vowel sounds at the touch of a tongue the width of his palm.

“You will, will you?”

“Ngh-” The sound was bitten off as that thick, hot tongue pressed deeply inside, Jaskier’s fingers scrabbling into tight fistfuls of blanket. He felt a hot gust of breath on the small of his back, like a midday desert breeze. “... _fuck_ .” Jaskier added eloquently up at Geralt. Between the two potions his body had filled with a thick, lazy warmth. When that tongue _curled,_ Jaskier’s legs decided it would be much more work to hold him up on his knees rather than going slack and loose around the tightly rolled bedding. He was feeling so warm and relaxed and pliant.

Did he really have to do anything about it but lay there and enjoy as that long pointed tongue stroked slowly in and out of his body, impossibly thick and slick and hot?

There was an obscene sound of licking lips behind him, and Jaskier felt the sensation that created in him earned a shudder. His toes curled into the blanket and he moaned against Geralt’s thigh. 

“All those sweet words fled rather quickly,” Firefang rumbled, sounding unbearably smug. Jaskier composed a new vowel mishmash in response.

“Potions just hit him. Give him a moment, he’ll talk your ears off.” Jaskier’s indignant huff of breath was interrupted with a startled sigh at the feel of something far more pointed and textured than the usual head of a cock felt pressed against him. 

“...gods,” he whispered reverently, letting his eyes fall closed to savor the new, slick sensation. “Next time, I want to ride you,” Jaskier breathed against Geralt’s leg. That earned him a pleased growl of laughter from both parties. He felt large hands, very careful of claws, cup his hips, and Jaskier swallowed hard. Tasted an echo of butter and honey and smoke on his lips.

“Sit back a little, if your legs will take you there.”

“You’re worth- hff- fuck- making the effort for.” Jaskier gasped out, letting himself be guided back as much as the ropes would allow. He shifted his hips experimentally, rocking backwards and forwards. As much savoring the new texture as finding just the right angle. 

“Careful-” Firefang murmured with a low breath, ending on a soft gasp as Jaskier breached himself on the head of his cock. “Go easy-”

“I will toss you off this mountain if you try to tell me you know my mind and body better than I do.” Jaskier laughed hoarsely, tossing his head back and exhaling with a low, eager moan. The head slipped inside him with pressure and a delicious aching stretch, but little difficulty, and Jaskier savored each ridge pressing in as he sank down further. 

It took hours.

It took no time at all. Jaskier’s ass was flush with Firefang’s thighs and hips, and Jaskier was making sounds he didn’t even know his voice was capable of, babbled praise, soft, silky compliments, and wordless noise mixing together. Firefang’s response was a guttural growl, followed by that low, rumbling purr that shot straight up Jaskier’s spine.

"Well." Geralt asked at the noise Jaskier made. "How is it?"

"Godsbefuckinggood _Geralt_ you were not exaggerating. To think I made it all the way to this age without experiencing this. You are a very, very, veryveryvery good friend," Jaskier gasped out breathlessly.

“Good.” Firefang grunted with a low laugh. “He’s eager. And talkative.”

“ _He_ is right _here_ ,” Jaskier groaned with a lazy roll of his hips that made both of them suck in a sharp breath. “...although the two of you talking that way is...is...you know what, I’m not complaining. Carry on, I’ll just...” He ground his ass into Firefang’s hips with a soft gasp. “...I’ll just entertain myself.”

Firefang’s claws dragged oh so lightly down Jaskier’s spine, and he abruptly fell silent as one large hand pressed him forward and down into the bedroll propping him up. He thought he’d taken everything that Firefang had to offer, but then he was pressed _forward_ and everything from his neck down flared up in roaring pleasure.

“...gods, I can feel you in the back of my _throat-_ ” Jaskier nearly sobbed with the feeling of it.

“I haven’t even _moved_ yet, songbird,” came Firefang’s purring growl in reply. He rolled his hips in a sinuous movement to demonstrate. Jaskier was certain there was no spot inside of him that magnificent length wasn’t touching. 

“Move. Move. Please, please move. I want all of it-” Jaskier heatedly urged. He’d be tender and aching tomorrow, but that was tomorrow’s problem. Besides, that’s what potions, salve and hot baths were for, and right now all he wanted was _more._

If Jaskier had thought that those scales, twists, and ridges had felt good sinking in, it was nothing compared to the breathless sensation of them slowly slipping out. Each ridge had pressed in with no more than a slight nudge, but the tug and pull on his rim of each of them left Jaskier shivering, silent, and soaked in sweat. 

Geralt’s fingers continued to gentle him through it, petting his damp hair, tensed shoulders, clenched fists. He didn’t remind Jaskier to breathe again, which was all right because Jaskier was no longer certain he had lungs to use. He was spread wide, so _open_ and _full_ at the same time. Each minute shift of Firefang’s hips lit fires under his skin, down his spine. He was fairly certain even the soles of his feet were blushing hot and red.

Distantly, Jaskier recognized the gentle, rocking cadence. It was the same rhythm he set when a new partner was unaccustomed to his own size. At least Firefang wasn’t accompanying it with the same murmured praise and gentle encouragement Jaskier favored in that instance. Because if he did, Jaskier was fairly certain he’d die.

“You wouldn’t die,” Firefang’s amused rumble gusted hot over the back of his neck. Jaskier twitched against his bonds, surprised and slightly embarrassed he’d spoken that thought aloud. “For all your fierceness and strength, you’re rather...pretty and sweet like this. I’m happy to be gentle with you, songbird. Not often I get that request.”

Jaskier’s cock abruptly jumped at the words, and he buried his face against Geralt’s thigh with a low, defeated sound. 

“Shh. Nothing shameful about seeking a bit of comfort,” the Dragonkind soothed, beginning to stroke in and out of him in a tender rhythm that had Jaskier panting open mouthed against the worn leather of Geralt’s pants. “And you have been _so_ good for me already...so open and ready...relaxed... _willing…_ ”

“I can’t- I won’t last if you keep-” Jaskier managed to shape a warning, remembering Geralt’s words about oversensitivity and tensing. 

“Mmm. You _won’t_?” Those words, accompanied by a languid roll of Firefang’s hips, forced a frantic gasp from Jaskier’s throat. “Try for me.” Jaskier’s hands scrabbled uselessly at the blanket. “Sweet little human. Try to wait, dear one. We’ve barely started.”

Firefang built his pace slowly, as though he could easily carry on fucking Jaskier through the night and into the dawn with little trouble. He began to match Jaskier sound for sound- low, rumbling growls to each of the bard’s heated cries. His thrusts picked up pace and grew more deliberate as Jaskier adjusted to each new sensation.

Time ceased to have coherent meaning when Firefang began to fuck him in earnest, hard and fast and deep into the blankets and Geralt’s lap. There was nothing in the world but the slick pull, press, slide, drag, and that relentless driving rhythm. Jaskier’s eyes had closed at some point, golden fire behind his lids as he held on and took each movement with greedy, gasping appreciation. He met Firefang eagerly, thrust for heated thrust.

“Do you still want what you came for?” Firefang gasped roughly in Jaskier’s ear. He had the barest shape of the words, though he couldn’t quite grasp the meaning of them. What had he come here for? What could he ask for that would be more than this melting, heated pleasure that seemed to go on and on, bringing him right to the cliff’s edge and then carefully drawing him back.

“Yes, anything, everything-” Jaskier whispered frantically, hoping that Firefang’s hearing was sharp enough to hear his assent.

It was.

“Then breathe. Relax, and open for me. Bear down, if you can.” Jaskier knew there was something important he was forgetting. How could he be more open, more willing? He took a deep, shuddering breath and let it out, focusing on oversensitive muscles and trying to follow that soft command.

And then something...pulsed, thick and moving along the center of the length buried deep inside him. Jaskier made a noise that was pure animal as something round and hard, and almost uncomfortably hot settled inside him. If he hadn’t been so open, so prepared- it could have been pain, or discomfort. But the impossibly wide stretch and ache of it working inside him just added to the pleasure building. It was like nothing he’d ever experienced, heat radiating through his core from that heavy weight. 

Oh, _fuck_.

One of Firefang’s massive hands splayed over his stomach, the pad of his thumb pressing down firmly. “There you are. _There._ You took that so easily from me. So good. So _sweet_.”

“Fuck, please, please-” Jaskier groaned from between clenched teeth, dangling by a single thread between too much and not enough.

Waves of pulsing heat, just as warm as the...the egg, he supposed, flooded him. On, and on. _Dragonseed. Oh._ The apothecary’s words _if it’s fresh_ drifted through Jaskier’s mind. He realized that the earlier warmth and tingling from the earlier drizzle from the golden flask had been the palest shadow of what was happening now. He was filled with molten light, with magic, with chaos. Pouring into him, leaving him feeling as though if he opened his eyes in this moment, they would be the same brilliant gold as Geralt’s intense gaze.

“Your turn,” Firefang growled in his ear, his tongue dragging over Jaskier’s spine, the back of his neck. Tasting the magic and need in his sweat, gentling him, coaxing.

The thread snapped abruptly, and Jaskier’s eyes opened in shock as the most intense orgasm of his life crested, smashing down on him like a wave. He was making low, feral sounds as pleasure wrenched out of him, rippling over that languid, molten sensation.

As his climax faded and he came back to himself, he was aware of a bone deep exhaustion. His mouth felt dry and sticky, the way it did after too much sweet cider followed by far too much sex. His ankles and wrists ached, his thoroughly used hole didn’t bear thinking about at the moment, and gods be good, he really did need a bath and to sleep for a full day and a night. His eyes wouldn’t focus at all, and he closed them again, sated.

“...Firefang, _Darling._ Dearest Dragonkind. Promise me you’ll write to me.” Jaskier slurred, before he fell instantly asleep in his bonds, a satisfied, deeply content smile firmly on his face.

* * *

Jaskier opened his eyes slowly, no idea how long he’d dozed for. He was clean, and covered again, and was aware of both a steady throbbing beat low in his stomach, and the unyielding press of something firm and wooden- _oh._ Keeping everything inside him from spilling out. He could hear Firefang and Geralt talking in low murmurs near him, and the merry crackle of the built up fire. The sky was dark, and stars glittered overhead. Geralt was slowly stroking a damp cloth over his throat and chest, the back of Jaskier’s head resting comfortably on his knee. 

“Welcome back,” Geralt commented softly. “How are you feeling?”

“...hard to say.” Jaskier licked dry lips with a quiet sigh, inventorying the various deep aches in his body. “...like I got fucked by a dragon within an inch of my life, had an egg laid in me, came til I went blind, and I’ve currently got a giant darning egg up my ass.”

Firefang snorted warmly with laughter. “That's an accurate accounting. You did very well.”

“Firefang…” Jaskier started, voice soft and tender. “...do you...do you want your egg? It doesn’t feel right. Selling it. After all...all that.”

“My family is large enough, and I’m too old to chase after a hatchling.” It was still surprising, that a face so inhuman could have such recognizably human emotions. Firefang’s pupils were wide and deep, and his lips curled in a pleased smile that was...gentle. “Sometimes, I’ll lay just for the pleasure of it. You were every bit as good to me as you promised.”

“Oh. That’s...that’s good.” Jaskier said, his eyes growing heavy again. Geralt pressed a warm hand to his forehead with a fond smile. “...don’t suppose there’s a hot spring in this mountain anywhere, is there?”

“I’ll have a hot bath called for as soon as we’re back at the inn.” Geralt responded, and Jaskier groaned.

“You’re going to have to throw me over the back of Roach like a bag of oats. I really don’t think my legs work.” 

“You’ll manage.”

Jaskier did manage to stagger, groaning, to his feet, long enough to wrap Firefang in a fond embrace and press a soft kiss to the end of his nose with murmured thanks. Geralt and Firefang said their own warm goodbyes, and Geralt extinguished the fire with brisk efficiency. Soon enough the makeshift camp was packed up, and Jaskier eyed Roach warily, shifting on his feet.

“Well?” Geralt asked, slipping easily onto the back of his horse and holding a hand out to Jaskier. Jaskier pressed a hand to his lower stomach with a small frown, feeling that throb low in his abdomen. “Forgot the part where you have to hold that for the ride all the way down the mountain and then lay it, did you?”

“No, just- erm. Dealing with the pressing reality of sitting horseback with this situation.” 

Geralt shook out and folded the horse blanket into a thick pad, then draped the sheepskin over it. “That’s the best I can do. Up. You're not in a tender condition, your ass is just sore. A little jostling won't hurt you.”

It was a very, very long ride back to town.

* * *

**Epilogue:**

As soon as they got the key to the room, Jaskier snatched it from Geralt’s hands and moved with obvious urgency up to it, locking Geralt out before he could follow. Geralt knocked on the tightly shut door with two knuckles, taking a deep breath and stifling a low laugh at the overwhelming scent of dragon and incense wafting from the other side.

"All right in there?"

“Privacy, please!” Jaskier’s voice was sharp and irritable.

“...privacy.” Geralt grunted with a soft chuckle. He could smell Jaskier’s sweat as well.

"Do not-" Jaskier panted, voice fierce and strained on the other side of the wood. "Open that door. I can handle this, I am just fine thank you very much."

"Helps if you press down on your belly. And squat."

"Have you kindly considered fucking off and dying?"

"You had no problem taking an egg while I watched, but laying it, that's where you get shy?"

"Fuck- I’m not fucking _shy-_ ” Jaskier groaned loudly. Geralt could hear the soft thunk of the back of his head on the other side of the door. “I hate you for letting me do this."

"If I remember rightly, earlier in the evening you were praising me for being your veryveryvery best friend for giving in to this whim of yours."

"Just have them bring a hot bath up in fifteen minutes and leave me to it. Go have a drink or something. Your voice isn't helping anything."

“My... _voice_.” Geralt murmured, dropping his voice lower, coaxing. “Relax, Jaskier. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about. You should have heard me my first time. I could come in there, hold your hand. You could squeeze down hard, try to break every one of my fingers. It’s better with someone else’s hand on you.”

There was a sharp gasp, another low groan, and silence for a few minutes broken only by Jaskier’s ragged breathing.

A moment later, the door opened. Jaskier stood, naked, in the doorway, his fingertips streaked with brilliant gold. “You’re an asshole.” He managed, looking utterly wrung out and exhausted, his face red but his chin held high. “It’s done. We’re going to be stupidly rich. You bottle…that.” He gestured with a limp hand at the chamber pot near the door, full of dragonseed and a large, round egg in the same shimmering gold. “Not one word. I need a bath, and then I'm going to sleep for two days."

“Fair enough. Hobble to your nest, then. I’ll wake you when the bath is ready.” 

Jaskier turned his back on Geralt and walked unsteadily to the bed, nudging the chamber pot to the side with his toe. He flopped face down on top of the covers, the backs and insides of his thighs and ass as golden as a noble’s table settings.

He shakily raised one hand, middle finger extended.


End file.
